


Recurring

by SarahH13



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AxE, Blood and Gore, Deaths, Descriptive wounds, Horror, Implied Sexual Content, Lance (Voltron) Angst, M/M, Team Voltron Family, axe wounds, detailed deaths, it's a bloodbath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 15:54:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12236037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahH13/pseuds/SarahH13
Summary: Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.After a few months of being back on Earth after the fall of Zarkon and the Galra empire, Lance persuades everyone to get together for a "family reunion" and go camping. Of course, he finds a perfect spot for them to go to. Or, at least, he thought he had found the perfect spot.It was only "perfect" for one person.WILL EVENTUALLY BE A LONGER STORY IN THE MAKING!!





	Recurring

Lance was far beyond saying he was fine. No, he was not fine. He was not okay. This wasn't okay. 

He was panting. Heavily. He tried to hold in his breath, calming his heart. Everyone could hear it. Though, nobody would hear it. Not now. Not anymore.  

A sound came from somewhere, pacing, continuous. 

He could hear the breathing behind him. It was so close…why was it so close? 

He could still feel the splash of blood upon his cheek, dripping down to his chin and falling onto his knees below. He curled further into himself, fetal position on the grass, back leaned against the bark of the tree behind him.  

He could still hear the screams. The terror of it all. Agony. 

**Death** . 

Why couldn’t they have chosen somewhere else? Just not here. This damn camping trip had been a complete failure from the start. He had felt like it was a bad idea, at first, but he hadn’t cared. He hadn’t cared enough to tell anyone. Now though, he was overcome with regret. It was all Lance’s fault. He suggested it. He told them…he told them it was going to be okay. That it was fine. Everything was fine. 

It was not fine. 

There were footsteps approaching the tree. Lance held his breath, tears falling out of his eyes as he pressed the back of his trembling hand onto his mouth, trying to contain his whimpers. The blood stained his hand. It was still warm. 

Like Keith. 

Lance whimpered again, trying to press his hand closer to his mouth as best as he could. 

No, no no no. Keith, no. Not Keith. It wasn’t Keith’s blood staining his hand, splashed onto his cheek, falling onto his knees. Keith was not that limp body lying in a pool of blood a few feet away behind him. No. No, Keith wasn’t dead. Keith was alive. Back in Lance’s tent. After…After they had… 

A low growl sounded behind him, so close now. Lance felt the shiver run up his spine, the scent of blood around him now reminding him of the other bodies thrown out into the clearing at his back. 

Pidge had been thrown up against a tree, throat sliced open, blood falling over her jacket and pants. Her mouth was open wide in a silent scream, eyes dulled but still staring up at the stars above. Had she been thinking of her brother and father in her last moments? 

Shiro wasn’t too far away, head and eye impaled with one of the poles that held his tent up. His prosthetic arm had been torn off and now hung loosely above Lance, waving as a breeze passed by. Lance couldn’t look at it. 

Hunk had been first. He was still laid out in his tent, blood and gore layering the walls of the tent, falling down onto the grass below. Lance couldn’t bring himself to check to see if Hunk was okay. Lance knew he wasn’t. No one could survive that. 

Now, here was Lance. And there was Keith. No longer Keith, arm twisted behind him in an odd angle and right leg nearly torn off. Blood was streaming down his mouth and pooling around his chin, along the grass and dirt. Keith was dead. Everyone was dead. And it was all Lance’s fault. 

The footsteps came closer. Lance was pushing himself as far as he could into the tree trunk. He could feel the sharp edges of the bark slice into the skin of his arms and back. He couldn't die. He couldn’t die. He didn’t want to die.

Though, when he looked over his shoulder at Keith, over at Pidge, and Shiro, and Hunk, he really wanted to. He didn’t want to live without them. They’d survived space together, Zarkon’s war, so many intergalactic battles in the past, and this is what killed them? Some…monster? Not even an alien, or a giant beast from another planet, but another human being? 

No, this was no human being. This was a monster. 

“C’mon, kid. We don’t have all day,” Whoever it was smirked, the psychopath evident in his smirk, “Well, you don’t. I have all night. But, you won’t.” His voice went higher, teasing, as it began to move closer. Closer. Too close.

Lance had never really been religious. He had been, when he was younger—back when his mother and grandmother took him to their local church to praise thanks to God. And Mary. And whoever else. Now, he couldn’t really remember. He was no longer what he considered religious. But, now, he was praying. Praying to anything, anyone, to save him. To take him away. To let him be okay. To let everyone be okay. 

“Please…” He whimpered, eyes closed shut. When the sound of a loud thud hit the top of the tree, nearby his head, he gasped and looked up. Standing before him, a hatchet thrown into the tree bark above his head, was the Man. His eyes were glowing a dull amber color, white teeth stained crimson. His other features were covered in darkness, shadows dancing along his figure. 

“Found you!” He snickered, before pulling the hatchet out of the tree bark. Lance coughed and wheezed, pleading, backing away from the man. The guy just laughed softly, following the kid that was backing up on his hands and knees. “I killed your friends. Don’t you want to join them? You should be together. In paradise. That’s why I’m here. Don’t you want to leave reality?” 

“Who the hell are you?” Lance screamed, tears pouring down his face. His fingers clawed at the grass below him. The man smiled, stopping a few feet away from Lance, hatchet propped on his shoulder nonchalantly. 

“A friend. I’m here to take you home.” He grinned, eyes closed, brown hair falling into his face, “Don’t you want to go home? See your friends again? I’m taking you away from this world. You’ll never have to face pain again, friend.” 

“You’re killing us!” Lance was once again backing away, before something was thrust towards him at lightning speed and a sharp, agonizing pain shot through his hand and up his arm. Lance gaped like a fish, trembling, looking over at his hand. Holding it in place was the hatchet, embedded deep into his the backside of his hand. No, scratch it. It had gone through his hand and was embedded into the dirt below. Lance couldn’t move. He was stuck. 

“Aw. C’mon. I don’t bite.” The man smirked, “Much.” He then pounced forward, climbing over Lance, the young adult underneath him kicking and screaming, calling out for help. Too bad no one was going to show up. The man grabbed the hatchet in one hand, lifting it up as he held Lance down with the other. 

It was over…not as quickly as Lance had hoped, but he knew it was over as soon as he watched his reflection in the silver of the Man’s hatchet, rust and blood mixed in with the many colors around him. 

The hatchet came swinging down on his neck with a sickening thud, causing him to gurgle out. Blood dribbled down his chin, the hatchet stuck in his throat but not severing his head. He could feel the pain—excruciating—but his mind was going blank. He was losing his ability to think, to feel, to do anything. So much pain…

Did Keith hurt like this…? 

“Bye-bye, lover boy.” The man said, before ripping the hatchet from Lance’s neck. Blood sprayed over the grass, pouring from his throat like a river. Lance coughed, and coughed, and coughed. The blood dusted over the man’s cheeks, though he held a smile. “You gonna die yet?” 

And Lance did. He could no longer feel, all his thoughts fell blank, and one image danced out in his head—Voltron. Team Voltron. Shiro, Pidge, Hunk, Keith, and himself. Keith…

He could see the smirk Keith had given him before entering his tent that night. He could see Keith laughing at one of his stupid jokes, probably for the first and last time he ever did. He could see the fondness in Keith’s eyes. And then…

He didn’t see anything at all. 

**Author's Note:**

> So! I am thinking about continuing this story with an idea I have in mind, where something happens and Lance "wakes" back up on the same day. What do you guys think? Should I continue it, or should I leave the one-shot as it is? 
> 
> Thanks for reading!~ 
> 
> \- Sarah


End file.
